Breathe
by Xstrawberry0fieldsforeverX
Summary: On day seventy-five, he starts to break down." Missing scene from Mystery Spot. Basically an excuse for h/c.


On day seventy-five, he starts to break down.

His eyes snap open and the familiar music echoes throughout the air, slowly and painfully drilling its way into his brain. He can hear the laughter underlying the singer's voice, the quiet tantalizing words "you failed again" in between the repetitive, irritating words of the chorus.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

And everything is exactly the same. The same dirty motel room, the same bed, the same ugly weather, the same clueless brother, the same ending to the worst day of his life, all starting with the exact same stupid song that now made him sick to his stomach to hear.

Then before he knows it, the alarm clock is in his hand for a brief moment before it goes flying across the room, hitting the wall with a satisfying thud.

"Dude, what the hell?"

It starts as a small smirk, then builds up to a low chuckle. And then suddenly, he's laughing out loud against his will, as though the funniest thing in the world has just occurred. He gasps for air, starving for oxygen, greedily sucking in each breath as the continued laughter explodes from his lips, cutting through the silence of the room like a knife.

Images of Dean race through his mind: hit by a car, crushed, choking, shot, bleeding, dead, dead, dead. He can feel the blood on his fingers, hear the choking noises, the gunshots, the sickening cracks and thuds and smacks. The memories are so palpable that he feels as though he has never really left the scene. The thought sends a shiver down his spine while sour, acrid bile burns holes through his throat.

His laughter is manic and uncontrollable, wild eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he can't stop laughing because the situation is so funny. He can't seem to get out of Tuesday and he can't ever stop his brother from dying, and no matter what he does, he watches Dean die and then restarts the whole damn day all over again. It's fucking hilarious. It has to be; otherwise he wouldn't be sitting here laughing himself to tears.

"Sammy?" Dean's hand is on his shoulder, warm and alive, but Dean's hand won't be there for long.

And then suddenly, it's not so funny anymore, and the loud bouts of laughter have evolved into gut wrenching sobs that shake his entire body. The sounds echo throughout the room, sounding very much like screams as they enter his ears. He can't imagine what Dean's thinking about him right now because he's never cried like this before; not even after Jess had died.

No, these were the desperate cries of a man being driven to a state of insanity.

"Come on, man, Asia's not that bad." Dean's joking with him, he realizes, but he wishes Dean wouldn't say anything, because each time Dean talks he can hear the choking, the cracks, the thuds, the gunshots, and the sputtering up blood.

The bed lowers significantly on the right side under his brother's weight. He turns to lie on his other side, curling up so his knees are pressed against his chest because if he's small enough, no one will be able to find him, and maybe the universe will leave him alone today.

"I can't save you," he forces out of his mouth between sobs. "I tried, okay? I tried seventy-four times, and I couldn't and I can't do it, and you can't expect me to because I'm just going to let you down."

"Sammy," he hears Dean murmur, feels a comforting touch upon his head, smoothing his hair back, another hand on his shoulder squeezes it gently. He can't stop the sobs from erupting from his mouth, and Dean is trying to help, but it only makes it worse knowing that this was one problem that Dean couldn't solve.

"You don't have to save me, Sammy. That's not your job," the words are quiet and chiding, and suddenly he feels all of three years old, desperately clinging to the hope that maybe Dean could fix this problem.

At this he sits up and turns, throwing his arms around his brother with force, burying his face into Dean's shoulder. He holds on tightly, embracing the comfort it provides him. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs slowly quiet down while Dean hums an old Zeppelin song, gently rubbing his back. The pair of trembling lips almost forms a smile because now the universe won't mess with him; not with Dean around. But then he remembers how it took Dean away, and his grip on his brother tightens. If he lets go for a second, Dean will die and it will be Tuesday again.

"Don't die." His voice is raw and hoarse as it carries out the childish words.

"Sam-"

"Just… don't." He interrupts, voice beginning to tremble again. He pulls away slightly, stares straight at his brother with pleading, red-rimmed eyes.

Dean nods, clears his throat while the features of his gentle expression morph into a more determined one.

"I'm not planning on it."

Sam's lips form a sad smile: Dean will be gone soon, but takes comfort in the words nonetheless.

"Somebody's gotta keep you from hurling alarm clocks at people," he says with a smirk as he stands up.

Forcing a laugh, Sam closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Maybe he can save Dean. Despite what his brother thinks, it _is_ his job. He manages a smile, feels the determination growing in his chest. He _will_ save Dean. There isn't any other option.

As he begins to rise from his bed, a sickening thud resounds through the thin walls of the motel. It feels as though someone's taken a wrecking ball to his heart, smashing into the already crumbling pieces as it chips away at his hope. As he nears the door, he wishes Dean were there. But Dean is gone, and Dean won't be back until tomorrow, if only for a moment.


End file.
